


The Bewitching Gaze of Another

by omfg_cob



Category: LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works, Lovecraftian - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Gen, Horror, Lovecraft inspired content, Lovecraftian style of literature, Mystery, Original Character(s), Supernatural Elements, Weird Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omfg_cob/pseuds/omfg_cob
Summary: "This is my final record, the final record of Professor Isaac Wiley, I am a well renowned professor of literature and arts at Hollow Lake University. Furthermore, I am well known in the city of Hollow Lake and have partaken in many city affairs to the benefit of all citizens. With my background in academics and my work for the city, it is with great and unsettling certainty that can I say: I am not mad, nor am I misguided.  What I have witnessed, which has driven me to such despair, is no hallucination, it is not a dream, nor is it a trick of the lights. I know that I will be ridiculed by my intellectual peers and associates, however, it is of utmost importance that this memoir is released to the public. I have, days before my planned final hour, delivered it to the nearest post office and will rely solely on their competences to deliver it, to where it must make it. This is a necessary precaution as I can not be trusted anymore. I am not entirely myself; I am not entirely the master of my own being anymore."
Kudos: 1





	The Bewitching Gaze of Another

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing an entire story myself, composed entirely of my own characters and ideas. I have decided to write in a manner that I find very enjoyable to read, although one may need a dictionary to understand the full text. The idea for this work came to me when I was reading a lot of Lovecraft literature and found myself pondering the insignificance of mankind. I thoroughly enjoyed how many thoughts the man's writings bring forth in me and have tried to recreate something that I hope may bring forth the same feelings in others.  
> This story is also the story where I have put in the most time, compared to the amount of text. I have reread this several times and rewritten sections. However, I now think that the work is good enough that I want to release it to anyone who might want to read it.
> 
> To anyone who does read it, I thank you for the time and if you can be bothered I would love to read your thoughts in the comment.
> 
> \- Cob

This is my final record, the final record of Professor Isaac Wiley, I am a well renowned professor of literature and arts at Hollow Lake University. Furthermore, I am well known in the city of Hollow Lake and have partaken in many city affairs to the benefit of all citizens. With my background in academics and my work for the city, it is with great and unsettling certainty that can I say: I am not mad, nor am I misguided. What I have witnessed, which has driven me to such despair, is no hallucination, it is not a dream, nor is it a trick of the lights. I know that I will be ridiculed by my intellectual peers and associates, however, it is of utmost importance that this memoir is released to the public. I have, days before my planned final hour, delivered it to the nearest post office and will rely solely on their competences to deliver it, to where it must make it. This is a necessary precaution as I can not be trusted anymore. I am not entirely myself; I am not entirely the master of my own being anymore.

It all started one night in August, a dark night, yet not completely void of light as radiant lanterns lit the streets as mirrored by stars in the clear night sky, accompanied by the waning moon that cast a cold and gentle light onto the Hollow Lake. The city of Hollow Lake, aptly named, was located next to a relic of the past, a dried-out river. A river that had once been deep and had hosted innumerable plants and astonishing wildlife. The riverbed and riverbanks, still rich in grass, herbs, fauna and trees, courtesy of the mild climate and sufficient amounts of rain, remained void of water as though being disallowed the former glory they once held. The city itself was bustling with life, schools, bakers, banks, smiths, stores, automobile repair shops and many more establishments typical of a modern cosmopolis. Buildings made of bricks, standing tall above the streets below, bearing their roofs and windows; protection from the weather and outlook to the manmade wonders and for some, even the blessed natural lands that stretched far beyond the reaches of one’s eye. However, this night, the waning moon and electrical torches could not do the mighty city it’s justice, as much laid hidden where the incandescent beams could not reach.

I had paid my close friend of many years, Alan H. Walker a visit in the afternoon. As we had been discussing the literature, we had each read, since our last meeting, the hours of daylight had hastily vanished. Eventually Alan’s wife had kindly invited me to share dinner with the pair. Alan and his wife had always been a pleasant company, furthermore Alan’s wife was quite adept in the arts of cooking, making the meals offered all the more delightful. This had led me to leave the couple’s home not long before the dead of night.

I know not what prompted the idea, as the route through the fairly well-lit and familiar streets to my home was neither long nor tedious. Yet, I decided upon a shortcut through the scarcely lighted park. The park which was utterly stunning and wonderous during the daytime with its soothing green and inviting, warm, old trees now seemed a lot less inviting. The green all thoroughly hidden by the scarce light and the old trees casting shadows. Shadows that allowed the mind to wander, to perceive nonexistent things and beings, monsters that haunt the young and feeble minded at night. This night however, I paid this no mind. I had walked these paths countless times before and would walk them countless times in the future, so I could recognize many of the trees and plants as what they were, even in the darkness.

As I traversed the winding paths through the looming trees, it became apparent, in the dim light of the moon, that I was making my way towards mist. Mist that seemed to cover everything, with a cold, wet and seemingly all ingulfing might as though trying to relieve an insatiable hunger. Thick as the mist was, it did not limit my vision, as it did not reach far above the ground, I noted that it reached a bit above my knees. If I had not already been at risk of stumbling, the thick, all ingulfing mist had definitely made it so that I was. As I made my way to the clearing in the park, that marked the point a bit past halfway between mine and Alan’s residences I spotted someone.

Sitting on the bench under the curved willow, I could make out a figure. I knew it had to be sitting on a bench, even if the mist made it seem that the shadow was freely floating in the air. This I knew as I was well acquainted with these lands, I was fully aware that no twisted trees or decrepit plants could possibly make up the human-like figure that had stopped me dead in my tracks. I could easily have ignored this unforeseen event and continued making my way towards my welcoming home, however something seemed to draw me towards this indistinguishable shade. Be it the curiosity that plagues all men or something beyond, which the likes of mortal man can not hope to control, I found myself making way through the leaves that were hanging so quietly in the windless dark. As I was now merely a few meters from the shade, I could now make out distinct features of it. I could tell that it was a woman, adorning a long black dress. A dress that left her arms exposed betwixt it and her long, black gloves. Her silken, long, black hair, fell far down her back, almost far enough to dip into the white, insatiable mist.

Unable to make out her face, I decided that it would be the most proper course of action to make my presence known to her, so I said: “Good evening. I did not expect anyone to be in these parts of town.” As I closed the remaining distance between where I had been standing for a couple minutes studying her, to the bench she was sitting on.

She turned her head towards me, as I was now standing in front of the bench. I noticed that both her eyes were closed, as if she was asleep and I considered if that was the case for a brief moment before she replied: “Good evening to you too. I am just enjoying a quiet night and the delightful moonlight.” To which I replied: “Ah, well it is a most lovely night, isn’t it? May I sit with you?” as I beckoned to the bench. The woman quietly nodded. As I sat down, I considered her words, it was peculiar how she commented on the moonlight as she was sitting there with her eyes closed and even my approach and the conversing had not earned me even the shortest glance from her. These thoughts were quickly banished to the furthest recesses of my mind as I took notice of her immense allure, as all her features became apparent to me.

We conversed for a while. I spoke of my life, my profession and what I had learned throughout my life. She listened curiously intensely to my words and spoke of experiences and events, so vividly remembered, yet so fantastic that they barely seemed real. However, the sheer conviction she held and the seeming immense knowledge she seemed to possess, on these subjects that she spoke of. This made me question if I was the one who was ignorant of a vast knowledge, an ancient enlightenment, that loomed just outside the scriptures that I had studied and become proficient with. I decided that I would eventually have to seek out texts that could prove or disprove the near phantasmagoric tales shared with me.

In the midst of our conversation, she suddenly rose to her feet, informing me that she had to leave. I was taken aback, as I had been enjoying the conversation and had assumed, she had too, despite never bestowing me a single glance. She was about to leave when I grabbed her hand, I remember vividly how cold it was, even through the black gloves she wore, and asked: “May I know your name? Will I see you again?”

Clearly surprised by my actions, she turned to me and looked at me. Her eyes open, her eyes staring straight at me.

The next thing I remember was laying in my bed the next day, unsure of how I had gotten there. I had had a drink or two the day prior, but I clearly remembered the events that happened that previous day and night. I remembered Alan, his wife and the mysteriously alluring lady I had met in the park.

With the dawn of a new day and the renewed vigor of a reasonable night of sleep, I resolved myself to visit the library associated with the Hollow Lake university. I wanted to seek out and scrutinize any papers, books or scriptures that might bear a shred of semblance to the tales I had been told the night prior. The eternal thirst for knowledge of the accomplished mind being the main force driving me but also a peculiar new feeling had been kindled within me. A feeling that had me wanting to seek out this woman of the night, to once again rendezvous with her in the mist engulfed and moonlit witching hours of the dark night.

My search at the library must have seemed nearly frantic had there been any sane man spectating my perusal of many different texts. However, to me, aside from the fiery wish for understanding the woman, a boundless enthusiasm had arisen. Each snippet of text related to her stories, each infinitesimal passage that bore the smallest semblance of her words or their meaning excited me greatly. As my throughout inspection of texts had gone on for many feverish hours it became apparent to me that many of the texts I had perused with great interest formed a sort of web. Many bore references to each other. The ancient scripture of Adom Seth, photocopies of ancient Egyptian parchments, unveiling tales of ancient beings. Beings that bore the form of mankind, yet held characteristics preposterous, grotesque and wholly freakish, characteristics not intended by nature or any equitable god. ‘L'ordre naturel de l'humanité’ by the French author Bernice Lacharite bearing passages denouncing any aberrant. The most compelling passage available to me was: “Should any creature residing on the land of man ever diverge from its species to the point where the natural sciences can not explain it, let it be stricken down by all the fury of man and his gods!”

This book by Bernice, led to the culmination of my mesmerizing study. It was this book that held reference to the most hideous and unholy name of a book I had ever laid my eyes upon. In the references it had listed the godforsaken book ‘Indulgence of the Salacious Abhorrence’. A book that I was now condemned to track down as it might hold further clues and information about this obscure knowledge, which I had been granted insight into. Knowledge that intended to fully understand and comprehend, as it may further the understanding of the history of how everything came to be as it is. That was what I told myself, as something as unscientific as the feeling in my chest or a certain unexplainable and delirious pulling of my mind that had developed throughout my studies.

Coming to a blockage in my studies, one that could not be resolved by assiduously scrutinizing the amassed books and scriptures offered by the library, I decided that I would endeavor to meet the lady once more as the sunlit hours grew shorter and fewer. If the book was unavailable to me, surely, she could enlighten me, as she seemed to know all about the contents of said book and the abominable history surrounding it.

As I was walking down the streets of Hollow Lake, I thought to myself: “A woman as brilliant and insightful in such obscure literature must surely be a professor. I should inquire as to where she teaches and where I might be able to seek out more of such esoteric writings.”

Much to my immeasurable disappointment the park was barren of any animate beings. This was made obvious to me when I approached the clearing where I had met and conversed the night before and I found lacking anything but the well-known landscape. The waning moon cast the same light down from the sky above, the same plentiful stars were painted across the night shroud, but the ground was utterly void of any mist. It almost seemed like the engulfing mist had been a product of the woman’s mere presence. I told myself that it must have had to do with weather conditions and the levels of humidity during the day, as such bizarre a phenomenon could not have been caused by any single human being.

Having opted to sit on the same bench as the day prior, I spent the better part of an hour waiting. Expecting the woman to show up at any moment’s notice. However, all that ever crossed paths with me were my own thoughts. Thoughts of what I had found during the day, how these abhorrent links between the writings of many so grotesquely matched and painted such an unequivocal, yet obscure picture. A heinous picture that was detailing beings. Beings that should reside outside of the sane man’s mind and be left solely to the delirious madman’s insane mind and irrational ramblings. Yet here I was, a sane professor, humoring such thoughts and envisions. Envisions that were wholly unbecoming of me. Wholly unbecoming, if not for the piecing of documents making it so distastefully indisputable. However, in the end I gave up on meeting her this night and made my way back to my residence.

A few days later I was stood on the doorstep of a certain scholar of the abstruse, dr. Jean H. Leopold, that my prior days of subtle inquiries on the matter of books relating to those which I had read in the university library. Through the guise my field of work, my inquiries on the topic of bizarre books and scriptures did not provoke much questioning or suspicion as to my motives for acquiring these texts. Despite the available knowledge of my peers being scarce and having led me on a sizable investigation, the information acquired had been invaluable. I had been set on the right path, in my search, when one colleague, a Mr. Phillips, had suggested that I contacted friends of his. Friends who were respected collectors of various art and literature, who could likely point me in the direction of fellow collectors, with a penchant for the obscure and macabre.

The meeting with dr. Jean had been arranged through telephone conversation. I had explained to the man what had led me to contact him and how I was hoping he could aid me in my understanding of these obscure books, and potentially suggest an advantageous path forwards in my search for the knowledge that I desired. This, I recalled as I was following the elderly man to his study as my conversing with him had me recall the first impressions his curious speech had had on me. As peculiar as his speech was, his intellect and brilliancy fully made up for, it was apparent to me that the doctor had a vast knowledge of many fields of study. This was undeniably supported by the abundancy of books his study held. An abundancy of books, some written by hand with pen, many mass-produced by the printing presses, a select few books written using a quill. Having been shown several books from his collection, that complemented my search, I learned that almost all of them held reference to that grotesque book. It seemed as if though the only definitive answers to my most confidential conundrums laid hidden within this book.

Feigning the ignorance of an average, yet observant professor, I pointed out that a certain book stood out, to me. A book that many of the ones, I had been shown, bore reference to. This deduction of mine seemed to have garnered me the undivided attention of dr. Jean as he let out an audible gasp as I started inquiring about the book and if the doctor knew of the whereabouts of a copy. It was apparent to me that this topic was of utmost discomfort to the doctor as his previous calm demeanor had been replaced by an unrestful and almost scared behavior. When the man had regained some of his previous calm demeanor, he told me that he did indeed know of the book I was referring to. What I had not, even in my wildest dreams, imagined was that he held it within his possession, as he told me just after. At this, I could not contain my excitement and without self-restraint asked if I was allowed to read, or even borrow, his copy of ‘Indulgence of the Salacious Abhorrence’.

Jean’s eyes widened as an almost frantic expression took the place of his regained calm demeanor and he spoke in a loud voice, almost screamed, that I could read the book, I could take the book. However, I was not to return the book, I was disallowed to speak of its name, and I had to leave. As soon as the man’s hysterical outburst had come to its finale, he slumped back into his chair. His energy apparently having been exhausted, leaving him holding himself as he trembled slightly. He directed me to the book in a now unsteady and faint voice. The book was hidden in the furthest recesses of his study. Upon touching the book, I thought I felt a curious pulse run up my arm and settle itself in my chest. Excited as I was and slightly startled by the scene caused by the elderly man, I did not think much of it.

What I read in the book, as I returned to my own residence, I can and will not disclose. The unholiness and obscenity I learned from that book has no place in the world of man. The scriptures were those of a madman, yet they lacked the incomprehensible gibberish of the insane and not once did the book diverge from its unsettling narrative. However, to ensure that the gravity of what I learned as I read that book of unspoken and preposterous insults to humankind, it is necessary to unveil the most relevant and utterly necessary. In passages explaining ancient evils and unearthly beings, I found it. I found an explanation that had me shrieking in disbelief and disturbance. The book spoke of a being, a being that it perceived and revered as a godlike existence. A mystical creature that infatuates any man that should come into contact with it. Yet, according to the book, the being held some atrocious aspect, an aspect which tied it to its inhumane physique. With this inhumanity, the being’s true nature persists, and with its true nature, its natural, despicable capabilities.

Throughout the following weeks I continued my studies of the book. I linked it to anything and everything I had been granted insight into that fateful night. Numerous tales, that the woman had told me, matched so eerily and expanded upon the macabre and distressing stories the book told. Every time I found some semblance of relation between her tales and the texts, I now had in my possession, I grew more passionate about my studies. However, together with that passion, my yearning to meet the mistress of the night grew equally. I thought about the conversations we might hold. I thought about how my newly found knowledge of the hideous and unknown would allow for deeper and more fascinating conversation. However, I had also noted a curious tendency that had begun occurring. In the mornings, I would often find my footwear discarded unnaturally. Having had no recollection of going out the nights prior to these incidents, and being of a relatively orderly nature, I was at first surprised at this. Later, having thought about the puzzling incidents, it began making sense to me. Despite my calm and rational conscious being, I had been reading chapter after chapter of deeply unsettling passages. I had been linking these passages to seemingly ancient and obscure tales told by a woman whom I had met in the dead of night. A sudden change from my mundane and ordinary life would have had to have some impact on my unconscious being.

I was no stranger to the concept of sleepwalking, having read texts and stories on the matter previously. Yet, I was bewildered as to how an unconscious mind could both put on shoes and manage its way out of a locked home. Even more puzzling was the fact that I, almost magically, seemed to always find my way back home.

Learning of my nightly roaming proved to be quite simple. Having asked around the neighborhood, explaining the connection to my newly acquired sleepwalking, and having been directed to several persons known to walk the streets of the city at night. I quickly managed to piece a plausible route together for my nightly travels, having listened to drunkards, rebellious youth, people whose work forced them to be awake and many more. The route that formed, from having listened to these many people, did not seem to vary. I had been recognized on the same route, walking from my house to a seemingly random house, where I had been seen entering.

Unsettling as they were to my conscious self, the nightly escapades of my unconscious self seemed mostly harmless. However, as I learned of the house being abandoned, I became marginally concerned. This concern was intensified when the information of other people having been seen entering the establishment at nighttime.

Driven partially by the natural curiosity that resides within all men and the safety of myself, I stayed awake the following night and ventured out into the moonlit town. I had steeled my nerves throughout the day, growing increasingly sure of my destination. The same destination as my sleeping, unconscious self was headed to so frequently at night. As I made my way to the place, it felt as if the darkness seemed more encroaching than what could be expected, when the silent moon was guiding my step. Yet, the cold light cast down by the moon seemed, to me, to whisper a tale of madness and distress. As I made it to the house, I was met with a spine-chilling sight; seeping out from below the old door, was mist. A phenomenon that should not occur inside of a manmade structure, neither by natural causes nor by human hand. As for what I found inside the decrepit home, when I eventually mustered up enough courage to enter through the old door, was unimpressive. The electrical torch I had brought with me revealed nothing but regular furniture, although timeworn and decaying. The petrifying discovery I had expected from the insides of this home only occurred to me when I had made it all the way to the backdoor. As I opened the door, it dawned upon me that the house was located right next to the park. The park that I had wandered through so many times before. The park where I had met with the breathtaking and cold beauty, in the dead of night. It dawned upon me that this path I had taken, was the shortest one when going from my residence to the park.

The park that I used to know so intricately now seemed wholly unfamiliar, the mist slowly and eerily rolling out from below the trees. The trees simultaneously luring me to them, promising supernatural kindness but at the same time horrifying me, keeping me at a distance, portraying hellish calamity. Ignoring the uneasy feeling in my chest, I made my way through the trees, following the inimical pathway.

As the trees started to make way for a mist-filled clearing, I spotted a clearing that I knew very well, a clearing where I had met a certain woman. As I neared the clearing, noises of a gathering of people became more and more clear to me, despite the sounds I heard sounding distinctively different to the English I had known all of my life. Thus, I decided to veer from the path and quietly creep into the surrounding trees. Hiding myself behind trees and bushes, I ensured that my line of sight was unhindered.

What was visible to me was a gathering of people, seemingly normal people, yet their movements seemed peculiar, almost as if the grotesque inhabitants of the bodies were not entirely at home in their mortal shell. The repugnant entourage suddenly split, creating an open path through the clearing, through which two herculean characters dragged something along the ground, something they held onto by two appendages. Studying the scene unfolding before me more carefully, I recognized the two appendages as being the hands of a person. Horrified at the scene, I could feel my stomach churning. When the two figures reached the center of the clearing, I saw her. The ghastly woman I had been yearning for these past few weeks. The woman seemed pleased with the deed, as I saw a wide, nefarious grin, as her face was revealed to me by the revealing moonlight.

At once, upon studying her facial features I froze. I was taken with her eyes, the ones she had kept so well-hidden on the night of our first meeting. However, her eyes were not those of human kind. Her eyes were something so freakishly unnatural, yet tantalizingly beautiful that I was entirely lost within them. What I saw was two gemstones, gemstones with colors swirling around, shining the most alluring and bewitching iridescent light.

I know not how long I stood there, hidden behind the draping trees and the covering bushes. I know that in those eyes, eyes that no man should witness, I saw the most enchanting visions. I saw wholly impossible scenes. Scenes with impossible creatures, performing impossible feats and between them I roamed as one of their kin. In a single, unconscious movement, it all ended. As my bewitched self, by chance, had moved and snapped a branch, which echoed throughout the clearing. The entourage’s attention turned to me and I returned from the bewitching spell that had been cast on me. When the first horrid scream was heard, reacting to my presence, I ran. Completely horrified with what I had witnessed, with the bewitching nature of the devious being and an innate sense of primal fear. The shrouded and seemingly uncharted route out of the park was treacherous, vines that crept along the ground, previously unnoticeable, now being a great enemy of my balance. Despite their inadequate movements, I did not gain ground on my pursuers, even as they stumbled and fell, they ran as if their safety was wholly irrelevant. As I peered back at my pursuers, I saw regular people, with bleeding and contorted faces, screaming in such a hideous fashion, that no man may imitate it.

When I made it to the town square, my body gave in. My physical shape was adequate but not overly impressive and the frantic escape had drained me of all my strength. I collapsed in the middle of the plaza just as the very first rays of morning light rose above the horizon and fell upon me.

What happened to the entourage, I do not know. How I was not taken, I do not know. However, this is what allowed me to disclose my repugnant experience. Therefore, I must repeat; I am not mad, nor am I misguided, yet, I must beg of anyone who takes me seriously, anyone who might perceive the danger; burn the accursed book. Destroy it, so that none other may read its appalling and heinous contents. Do so, for I am wholly unable to do so now. As I write this, I can feel the horrid abomination’s allure gnawing on my mind, I can feel it slowly gaining control over me. I know this, as I am unable to handle or go near the accursed book. I fear that when night comes and sleep sets in, I am to lose myself. Therefore, it is of utmost importance that none seek out the hideous being bearing female appearance, do not consider conversing with it, if the ghastly apparition shows itself to you on a dark night. Do not repeat my mistakes, not for my sake, not for yours, but for the sake of all of humanity.


End file.
